Words exhausted cease to exist

twenty six in shapes to choose

if my tongue pronounce insist

then I need to check my muse.

What is there for me to write

when no love is there to see

where no one to kiss in spite

of my search from land to sea.

I could write about temptation

and the swing of silk like hips

or just search my imagination

for the perfect pair of lips.

Only words not hard to find

if twenty seven in my past

for a life so much entwined

in the words my passion cast.


Dirge Of Passing


Dirge Of Passing

I am from another time

this one it’s yours and not mine,

where I’m from I won’t say

passing through, I won’t stay.


Sadness keeps company well when no other company I keep

moments, brief ones filled with regrets, and those I regret

for wasted life has no place in words, a thousand words set

in books never written, when others written make me weep.


I am from another land

this one it’s yours where I stand,

where I’m from I won’t say

passing through, I won’t stay.


Soon life will lose its attraction, attracted I was (am) to the mind

of poets and dreamers, but dreamers fade into dreams weaved

by their own search for love, when love is missed and grieved

if needed to create beauty, the beauty between words we find.


I am from another place

this one it’s yours to embrace,

where I’m from I won’t say

passing through, I won’t stay.


Of Time and Fears


Of Time and Fears


“It is not death but time I fear”

he said with sadness reflected eyes

and truth behold when feed the lies

of what we are or shall become

when death is near.

“And what is love we hold so dear?”

Ah, if love could only forever last,

It felt like rain in warm mid-spring

a gentle breeze, a storm now past.

“But what will be when we are done?”

We were but dust and dust alone

when love and life is just a fling

that leave a trace so hard to follow,

just taste the sweet and bitter swallow

for then one day the end will come

and it’s not death but time we fear.







Stale soap, old walls, distant memory

find its way into repressed spaces

left alone through years of living-

I was innocent once

when twice intrusive faces

burned images in places

where innocence flourish,

salted ground left in twisted

vines growing into who I am.

I was innocent once

young fingers not meant to explore

soft petals, a sacrifice lamb

for gods of lust and pleasure.

Do you remember before?

Sometimes in dreams I can

and then wonder,

if I was innocent once.



“How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d”
Alexander Pope, Eloisa to Abelard





Oh, how the flame not so bright

flickers softly through the night

in the warm of late May Spring

understanding all shall pass

when to life I’ll strongly cling.


And then think how to surpass

while I slowly raise the glass

dreams I weaved left unclaimed

none to see none to behold

while in wine I sooth the pain.


What I have I cannot hold

all was left out in the cold

and a flame that was so bright

flickers softly through the night.